Three Strikes & You're Out!
by Sleepless in Virginia
Summary: No one in Forks knew about Edward Cullen's secret life; Or did they?  Could an "Unconventional" super hero help Edward escape his controlling abusive father?  Submission for Die Daddy C Die Contest - Language and Violence. O/S


**Three Strikes and You're Out**

No one in Forks knew about Edward Cullen's secret life; Or did they? Could an "Unconventional" super hero help Edward escape his controlling abusive father? Submission for Die Daddy C Die Contest - Language and Violence. O/S

**Penname:** Sleepless in Virginia

**Title:** Three Strikes and You're Out

**Summary:** No one in Forks knew about Edward Cullen's secret life; Or did they? Could an "Unconventional" super hero help Edward escape his abusive father?

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Twilight or Offside. But I am obsessed with both, just ask my husband.

**Contest:** Die, Daddy C, Die

**A/N:** This is my first attempt at writing…ever! So please be kind– I already have enough angst in my life with four kids (under the age of twelve) home for summer break. When the hell does school start? Enjoy!

**?POV**

Even with the dimmer switched turned down, the green 5:55 am illuminated the interior cab of the car. As I anxiously waited for clock to hit 6:00 I could feel the familiar surge of adrenalin course through my body, increasing my focus as I mentally prepared for the task ahead. It had been fifteen long years of denial. Denying who I am... denying my true nature, but the time had come. Time to accept what I was born to do…and right now, unfortunately, that involved waiting.

The sound of a screen door slamming at back of the house interrupted the silence of the morning. Like clockwork, Edward leaped off the back porch at exactly 6 o'clock. His signature unruly hair was covered with a simple black knit hat that hid ear buds connected to the small iPod attached to his running shorts. Over the past four weeks I had been documenting Edward's morning routine from the safety and security of my car that was hidden behind a small grove of trees located at the side of his property.

The weeks of surveillance confirmed what I already knew…Edward Cullen was one disciplined motherfucker. To the casual observer Edward was an arrogant son-of a bitch, that didn't seem to care about anything else but his clothes, his car, or his latest fuck, but I knew the truth – I could see through the bullshit. Edward was as dedicated as any Olympic athlete. Every meal he ate, hour he slept, mile he ran and muscle he strained was done with singular focus…. to improve his game. Unfortunately, Edward's efforts were not motivated by his own desire to achieve his personal best; they were motivated by raw desperation… a desperation that triggered my true nature.

In order to succeed in my task I needed to be calm and steady. Absolutely no mistakes! My lower abdomen rose as I took long steady breaths through my nose and lowered when I released the air. It took ten controlled breaths before I felt the muscles in my shoulders relax and the tension leave my hands and fingers.

Yesterday afternoon, after practice, I overheard Edward telling Tyler that his father would be leaving "bright and early" in the morning for a weeklong conference in Chicago. It took only 15 minutes on the public library computer to determine that Dr. Carlisle Cullen would be departing at 7:40 AM from William R. Fairchild International Airport on flight number #5131. According to my calculations, Dr. Cullen would need to leave his house in the next ten minutes in order to make his flight.

As Edward's hat disappeared around the cluster of oak trees at the back of the property, I detected a movement at the front of the house. Carlisle, loaded down with a travel mug, suitcase, garment bag and brief case came out of the house walking swiftly toward his Mercedes. He effortlessly opened the trunk of the car, deposited his bags and entered the car without breaking his stride. Seconds later he was pulling out of his driveway headed toward the airport.

It was impossible to determine what kept the doctor from noticing my car that morning. Maybe it was the early morning hour or the doctor's distracted thoughts that prevented him from noticing the silver Prius tailing him; or maybe he was just so narcissistic that he couldn't imagine someone having the audacity to follow him. Whatever the reason, I was happy to pull into the airport parking deck behind Dr. Cullen undetected.

I parked next to a red pick-up truck, intentionally leaving a three spot buffer between our cars. I swiftly slipped on a pair of medical gloves, pulled a ski mask over my head and grabbed the hypodermic needle. As I opened the door and stepped out of the car I was assaulted by Carlisle's voice.

"Why the fuck are you calling me already?" Carlisle's loud voice echoed in the deserted parking garage, "You lazy piece of shit. There is no way that you finished your run already. I just got to the airport. Since it only takes me thirty minutes to get here you obviously cut your run short, so don't even think you are calling me to report your times. I don't care if it's dark out, I don't care if it's cold, and I don't care if you have a cramp. You need to be in top shape for Aro Volturi and that means nothing less than 10 miles each morning. So get your ass back outside and run…now!"

I watched from the shadow of the pick-up truck as Dr. Cullen disconnected his call and shoved his phone in the pocket of his coat. He popped the trunk with the remote and leaned in to pick up his luggage. While he organized the content of his trunk, I walked the eight paces to where he stood and without warning plunged a syringe of diluted M99 directly into his jugular.

I watched as his expression changed from shock, to irritation, then confusion as he attempted to comprehend what was happening. It took mere seconds for all expression to leave his face as the potent animal tranquilizer caused the "Mighty Doctor Cullen" to fall heavily to the ground.

I loaded the suitcase, briefcase, garment bag into the trunk along with the phone and coffee mug in the trunk and engaged the lock on the remote. Kneeling down, I grabbed the pile of crap the townspeople called, "Doctor Cullen", heaved him over my shoulder and walked him back towards my car. Opening the back door of the Prius, I tossed the Doc onto the back seat that had been completely covered in plastic wrap, and then covered his body with a large blue tarp. Once he was wrapped, I closed the door with my hip and jumped in the drivers seat, thanking the makers of Toyota for creating a virtually silent car.

Exactly 36 minutes and 30 seconds later I pulled up to the medium sized RV parked at the back of the overgrown lot at the back of my property. Ten years ago my mother had died and left me five acres of pseudo-swamp land and a small cottage in the middle of Nowhere, Washington. With conflicted feelings, I left New York, parked my traveling home and set up my life in Forks.

Opening the RV door I glanced around to double check my preparations. Satisfied, I reached toward the hook at the back of the door, slid the black, full-length apron over my head and turned back toward the incapacitated Doctor.

**CPOV**

My entire body fought the urge to wake. My limbs felt heavy, my brain struggled to process the movement coming from above my body and my eyes felt weighted down struggling to open.

"What'ssssss up Doc", a deep voice hissed from somewhere above my head.

My eyes blinked slowly in an attempt to adjust to the minimal light in the room. I tried to lift my hand to rub my eyes, but found that even though I could contract my bicep, my arm was unable to move off the hard surface I was laying on. Something was weighing me down, but I wasn't clear headed enough to understand the restraint.

"It is time to wake up and have a little chat Doc, " the voice sing-songed into my ear.

Even in my drug-altered state I knew that something was terribly wrong, triggering my notorious temper into overdrive.

"What the HELL do you want?" I barked out in voice that was more slurred than I had hoped. "Do you even know WHO I AM? You are making a grave mistake!"

An incredulous laugh emanated from the shadows followed by a deafening silence.

During the silence I listened to the activity of my captor and tried to make sense of my current environment. From the dim light I could see that the walls and ceiling of this tiny room were entirely covered in plastic sheets held together with duct tape. One exposed light bulb hung from a brown cord suspended approximately two feet above my head. I could not see the floor from my position on the table, but by the sound of my captor's feet I assumed that the plastic was also covering the floor too.

I had been stripped of all my clothes and wrapped like a mummy to the table with something that resembled plastic wrap. I attempted to test the restraint by rolling my body, but the plastic cocoon immobilized me completely. Even my head has been stabilized by what I guessed was a long strip of duct tape across my forehead and affixed to the table.

A paralyzing fear crept into my body as I heard the sound of shoes shuffling across the plastic sheets on the floor beneath my body.

"To answer your question, I…KNOW…EXACTLY…WHO …YOU…ARE. Doctor…Carlisle…Edward...Cullen," he spoke with hatred, spitting out the words. "You were born in Chicago. The only child of Reverend Edward and Elisabeth Cullen, you were a good student, but an even stronger football player. You thought you would go on to play football in college until a shoulder injury destroyed your dreams. Disappointed with your short football career, and determined to outshine your own father's meager life, you focused all your energy on completing medical school, which you did with honors. In fact your dedication and discipline allowed you to graduate from the University of Chicago Medical School a year early. Shortly after graduation you married your college sweetheart and soul mate, Esme Masen, and moved to Fork's Washington so that Esme could spend the last few years with her ailing mother and last living relative. Your son Edward was born two months before Esme's mother passed and you and Esme were the beneficiaries of her extensive estate.

"On September 23rd, ten years ago, your wife died in a terrible car accident. When Esme died she took with her the best part of your soul and left behind a monster to raise, Edward, the reason for her existence."

I could feel my throat close and my mind race as I struggled to understand how this man knew so much about my life…my Esme. After all this time, I still had a painful reaction whenever anyone mentioned her name. In an attempt to avoid the pain I had removed all physical evidence of her in the house and forbid Edward to mention her. He was a constant reminder of her loss. It was his incompetence that caused her death, a fact I couldn't forget…. or forgive.

I could not waste precious time thinking about Esme- I needed to focus on a plan to get away from this psychopath. "Do I even know you know you? I mean you sound familiar, but I can't quite place your voice."

My captor took a step closer to where I was lying prone and sneered, "Did you really just ask me that question? I always new you were a narcissistic asshole, but that is so tragic it's almost funny."

As the light from the bare bulb illuminated his face I vaguely recognized the facial features belonging to Edward's pathetic excuse for a coach. What the hell was his name again, Coach Slap? Tap? …In my head I always referred to him as Coach Crap – because his coaching was complete shit. If I didn't manage every aspect of Edward's training outside of practice, there is no way he would have the skill necessary to play professionally. The coaches from Forks High were inexperienced, uneducated and completely incompetent – that was a fact.

"I have been your son's soccer coach for the past four years. The name is Coach Clapp….not Coach Crap, as you have been known to mumble under your breath. I have been victim to your uninformed coaching suggestions, your slander and verbal abuse for four years – do you recognize me now?"

"I am willing to bet," the words tumbling out of his mouth seemed to increase in aggression as they picked up speed "that I know your son better then you. I know that if given the chance he would sketch instead of practice soccer, I know that he has never been in love but has slept with eighty percent of the girls in his grade, and I know, with undeniable certainty, each and every time his worthless, piece of shit father has beaten him in a fit of rage."

His rant left me speechless. This was the first time anyone ever accused me of hitting my son and I didn't really know how to respond, so I remained silent.

There was a slight pause as Coach Clapp inhaled two long deep breaths and sighed. "I want to thank you so much for not denying who you are and what you have done. Your silence confirms for me that my mission is justified."

"Justified mission? What are you taking about?" My voice was small as the true reality of the situation finally dawned on me.

"Lets just say that I have spent my life as a super hero…of sorts. Fifteen years ago I made the decision to "hang up my cape" so to speak, but you, Doc, have convinced me to come out of retirement for one last job."

"When I was younger I desperately needed someone to protect me from harm. At night I would dream of a strong, powerful super hero that drove an invisible car. He would pull up to my house, jump out of his invisible car, destroy the evil in my life and take me away to a better place. But nobody came. I had to become my own hero, so I did. And for many years I was that hero. I became a guardian of small souls. "

"After fifteen years, I am putting my super hero cape back on. I am Edward's personal avenging angel and I assure you Doc; I am going to take great pleasure in making you pay for all the pain you have inflicted on your son over the past four years. My plan for you is simple; I am going to recreate every injury you have given Edward. If, by some miracle, you are still breathing when I am done, I will let you go. If not…. well, you are not a stupid man – I am sure you understand."

"Wait, wait…you don't have to do this," I cried out in desperation, "I have lots of money and power in Forks. I can make you rich beyond anything you could imagine. I could make you powerful…maybe the principle of Forks High? Just unbind me and we can work out the details. I know that every man has a price. What is your price? What is your dream?"

"Doc, the only dream I have, is ending you…thoroughly and completely."

**Coach Clapp's POV**

I experienced true pleasure as I watched his body tense in panic. "Since you have managed to so significantly scar Edward's soul, I am going to obliterate yours," I whispered these words slowly in his ear in an attempt to prolong his agony, "Then, Doc, I am going to cut your body into small pieces, place the parts in environmentally-friendly biodegradable bags and scatter them throughout the waters of La Push where you will decompose quickly."

I let the words sink in before I slowly reached beneath the table where my precious Louisville Slugger laid waiting for me. "I bet you didn't know, Doc, that I too was quite the successful athlete in high school. But unlike you and Edward, baseball was my passion." I held the wooden bat directly in front of the Doc's line of sight before continuing. "I was the most sought-after player in the state. My father made sure that the recruiters were lined up to offer me every opportunity that he felt I deserved. In fact, Doc, just like Edward, my father was responsible for my exceptional performance."

"Do you know why the recruiters wanted me so desperately?" I asked gently tracing the Louisville Slugger logo on the side of the bat. "I was one hell of a hitter!"

Before he could respond I gripped the bat at the neck and raised it high above my head. In a flash I slammed the bat down with as much force as I could over the Doc's left shoulder. The faint crack of bone was followed by the first of what I hoped would be many agonizing screams.

I continued my monologue in a louder voice so that I could still be heard over the sounds of his suffering. "That was for the broken collarbone Edward suffered during his freshman season. I remember how he protected you by telling everyone that he had tripped on a tree root during an early morning run. Unfortunately, it didn't explain the deep purple hand marks I saw on his upper arms when he was changing for practice."

"Anyway…let's continue, shall we? In November of Edward's sophomore year we had a pretty important game against our rivals, the Port Angeles Chargers? Do you remember, Doc? Mandatory pre-game practice started at 8 AM. We were doing simple drills, nothing too challenging that might risk tiring them out before the game. Imagine my surprise when Edward energetically ran off the field after practice yet returned to the game three hours later holding his side and limping to his position in the goal. It was a remarkable game. Edward played as if his life depended on it. He successfully blocked each shot at the goal, he jumped he reached and he dove into the ground repeatedly despite the pain. Finally, with ten minutes left in the second half, he collapsed onto the field unable to get enough oxygen to his lungs. He told the ER doctor that his ribs were broken due to an aggressive play in the game, but it was BULLSHIT, IT WAS ALL BULLSHIT, DOC!"

The sound of the bat cutting through the air was almost as satisfying as the loud thud it made when it came into direct contact with the right side of Doc's body. Before he could fully appreciate the force of the strike, I quickly lifted the bat and struck again, a not-so subtle reminder of the most recent rib incident, which occurred last month.

Looking down at this pathetic excuse for a man, I couldn't help but smile at his agony. Dark purple welts blossomed underneath the plastic wrap while tears streamed down his ghostly white face. His mouth produced an awful gasping-wheezing sound that I could only assume was the result of a punctured lung.

"So, Doc, how ya feeling?

More whimpering sounds filled the air, but Doc had nothing to say.

"By the looks of you, I am going to assume not so great, huh? Hmmm. I wonder how Edward felt when you cracked his ribs, repeatedly. Did he feel like he couldn't get oxygen? Like his every breath might be his last? Well, lets reminisce some more, shall we? "

"The beginning of junior year wasn't up to your usual standards, huh Daddy Dearest? A few black eyes, a bloody lip, and a broken nose all appeared in September around the anniversary of Esme's accident, but nothing that quite lived up to your potential. Edward had easily explained away the facial injuries attributing them to multiple "fist-fights" in the locker room, but I knew better, and of course, so did you."

"It wasn't until after the playoffs that I received a call from the principle informing me that Edward would miss four weeks of post-season workouts because of a concussion he allegedly received from a fall on the ice. When I came to visit him in the hospital, Doc, I stood outside his room and overheard him apologizing to you for his inability to practice. The kid had multiple bruises on his face, far too many for a concussion, and yet his apology was to you. Fear and guilt punctuated every apologetic word as he explained that his injury was "no big deal". He promised that he would go back to practice next week despite what the doctors said. He even promised that he would improve his morning run time. The entire time I listened I heard Edward offer you words of reassurance, but there were no words of comfort or apology from his asshole father...NOTHING!"

"So Doc, I seem to be the one doing all the talking today. Do you have anything to say? Any explanation as to why you repeatedly tortured and brutalized your son? Maybe you would like to try to convince me that you are not a soulless monster?"

Unable to move his restrained head, Doc rolled his eyes in my direction, stared directly into my eyes and rasped out, with as much venom as he could muster, "Go…to...Hell!"

I couldn't help but chuckle at his pathetic, broken words, "Well, Ladies and gentleman, here we are at the bottom of the ninth, the score is tied 6 all." Channeling the voice of legendary baseball announcer Vin Scully, I continued, "the bases are loaded, there are two outs, the count is three balls and two strikes. Win or lose it is all up to this final pitch. Clapp looks at the pitcher, chokes up on the bat and waits for the ball to be released. Here is the wind up …"

The muscles in Doc's face tensed as he waited for the impact that didn't come.

With the bat poised confidently over my right shoulder ready to swing I leaned down to speak the final words the Doc would ever hear. "Before I hit the ball out of the park, Doc, I need you to do me one little favor, OK?" I honestly didn't expect a response from the wheezing, crying shell of a man on the table, so I continued. "When you arrive in that special little corner of Hell reserved for parents who beat the shit out of their children, tell my father, James Clapp, that his son Dexter says 'Hi…'

"And here's the pitch….."


End file.
